Personnel Duty
by Borath
Summary: It is the Prime's duty to care for the wellbeing of his people, and sparkmerges are a theraputic necessity. Crackfic with a heart. Prime/various.  Each chapter stands alone.
1. Opening Credits

_Inspired by __Lyricality's Seven Days fic about Bumblebee being the Autobot's pleasurebot. Phoenix13 mentioned a round of Optimus 'breaking in' bots in a similar way, and I've been trying to hunt them down… I'm so gutted I missed out on all the fics that came out of those challenges. _

_Utter crackfic, with Optimus/Bumblebee, Optimus/Ironhide, Optimus/Ratchet and some Bumblebee/Sam crushing mentioned._

_It's taken a while to write this and I hope it's ended up coming out okay. Think of it as a late Valentine's fic. Enjoy!_

Personnel Duty

Sam and Mikaela had sought out Prime last week in the small hanger that doubled as his office and quarters. The rest of the Autobots seemed to congregate in groups to recharge in their alt forms, so they'd thought nothing of approaching him without calling ahead, or even knocking ineffectually at the human-sized door. They'd frozen at the doorway, however, whatever their question had been instantly lost at the sight that was literally heating the air.

Bumblebee sat with his back to them on the oversized desk, legs straddling the standing mech as he worked his mouth over the thick cords of his throat. Optimus had one large hand cupping the scout's neck, the fingers of the other immersed in the nova of light coming from his chest. Both their vents groaned thick heat, an underlying thrum of noise against the grind of metal as optics flickered.

They'd stayed only seconds, but long enough to know what they were seeing. Red faced and flustered, they'd decided not to mention it to the scout when he approached to take them home.

*

_It was a uniqueness that Bumblebee talked during foreplay, and not simply to arouse. It was as if the warming of his parts, the steady throb of his spark beneath gentle, experienced hands somehow helped him to articulate himself. Only with Optimus, though. Their merges were long and slow because of it, because the yellow mech still hesitated after all these centuries._

_One hand cupping the mech's helm, thumbing his jaw, and the other tracing slow strokes at the very edge of the smaller spark casing, Optimus spoke in soft, even tones. "I am Prime, Bumblebee. My duty is your wellbeing, in all regards."_

_Bumblebee shook his head a little, resistance and pleasure tangled into the same heated knot. It had only been a month since Egypt and he was anxious that Optimus wasn't up to this duty. He certainly hadn't been seeking it when he came into the office to deliver his report. Like many times before, however, the tall mech had seen straight through to his spark and known what it was he needed. _

_Now sitting on the edge of the large desk, his thighs on either side of slim hips whilst wise hands coaxed his body out Bumblebee found his resistance quickly crumbling. Shuttered optics, then: "You died, and then Sam died," he bit out suddenly, head tipping back as his chassis split wider and offered up his spark. "And then Mikaela…" The admission had lifted a weight but the dent of it remained, clouding his processor and tainting his every part. He needed the hot wave, the cleansing tide of the Prime's spark._

_Optimus's vents rumbled softly, his thumb dipping into the base of the mech's spark and eliciting a sharp moan. The Autobots had been through so much since arriving on this world, and it would be a long time before all of the wounds were healed. "You still have us," he murmured, taking advantage of the height of the desk by bowing his head to touch their helms together. _

_Cautiously at first, Bumblebee brought his hands up to Optimus's neck and stilled against his chassis, his spark aching at the proximity of the powerful energy concealed by thick panels. Optimus had withdrawn from touching his spark directly, letting the pleasure brew as he traced neural lines in joints and teased at the warm interface panel. The scout moaned a little, pressing his head firmly against one finial. "Have you… I mean, for anyone…"_

_The considerately roaming hands didn't falter, one lingering over his electrified interface lines whilst the other traced the parts of his backstrut. "Yes, I've done this for those in grief."_

"_Magnus?"_

_Optimus stilled, remembering those dark days of mourning following the destruction of the mech whom had left him the last of the Prime's line. He'd known Ultra Magnus before, during and after that relationship, and the grieved darkness in the mech's optics was still a vivid memory. All the Autobots felt the loss, but none knew just how deeply Magnus suffered with it. It was only the second time they'd merged._

_Finally he nodded a little, vents sighing heat against Bumblebee's body as he simply held and was held. "After Sentinel, yes. We took a day of comfort when he allowed me. Less than he needed but all we could afford." Drawing back a little from the embrace, Optimus traced the mech's jaw before his hand trailed past his split chassis to scrape his abdomen. "There is much pain in our lives, and we manage it as best we can."_

_Stiffening, Bumblebee's head dropped back without his intention as Optimus traced the cover of his recessed interface panel. "I didn't know it could truly help that much."_

"_It's not spoken of aloud, but the sting of grief can also be cleansed." There was only factualness in the tone, a gentle assurance that there was relief even for this grey knot of feelings Bumblebee was experiencing. He'd not seen Sam die, albeit temporarily, and had not needed to see the scout's face in those moments to know of how deeply it had cut him. It had been obvious for a long time, and it relieved him beyond all measure that the teen had been revived just as he had, though he'd been returned to Mikaela more than Bumblebee. _

_When the mech released the latch, Optimus stroked the cover aside and felt the heat emanating from the revealed ports and retracted cables. It took only seconds for him to find the most electrified – the one that would start the woven connection. "Tell me of your feelings for the boy."_

_Bumblebee's voice came as a hoarse laugh, pained against the Prime's audio as he pulled his body closer into the broad chassis. Needing contact. Needing warmth. "It's impossible."_

"_I've learn__ed that that is rarely the case," Optimus murmured with a smile, twisting his hand to thumb back his own cover whilst the other tripped over lines and feeds in Bumblebee's neck. "But even if it is, he does love you, even if it's not in the way that you would wish to express it."_

"_What do I do, Prime?" the young mech asked with a tremble, optics widening as the most stimulated of his interface cables was teased out, drawn across the little space between them. His fingers tightened, scraping across the thick armour that he could never dent like this._

_Out of habit, Optimus shuttered his optics as he connected them, feeling a shunt of heat press into his port before the mech's other lines lurched out to complete the bind. Hands steady over the small ones that trembled against him, his instruction was whispered. __"Think of him and let go."_

_Bumblebee cried aloud as the packages began to move between them, pleasure triggering pleasure triggering want triggering need. One arm clutching Optimus's neck to brace himself, he arched away and allowed the broad hand to play across his spark again. __Clearly the Autobot Commander wished to wind him as tight as he could before giving him the cleansing release of a sparkmerge, and Bumblebee thanked him for it a thousand times over._

_Optimus lay a tender kiss to the yellow helm, offering his neck in the same gesture knowing that the scout had a proclivity for biting there. Finally opening his own chest plates when he felt that Bumblebee had heated enough to begin setting off alarms, Optimus drew himself closer to merge their sparks together. Just as his own optics were shuttering in response to the mech's stuttered groan of ecstasy, he noticed that the human-sized door, the one he hadn't locked, was open a few inches. It was a momentary distraction, however, before his spark swelled out through Bumblebee's systems and began to cleanse._

*

That in itself wasn't too bad. They'd conceded that all living things sought companionship, and there wasn't any reason why Optimus and Sam's guardian couldn't be in a relationship, hidden as it seemed to be. Mikaela broached that their discretion probably wasn't because they were embarrassed, but rather that they wouldn't want them to 'freak out' as Sam was doing. They decided mutually not to mention it and believed that that was that.

Inadvertently stumbling upon Optimus and Ironhide a few weeks later had blown their conclusion of an unrevealed romance in the midst of war completely to hell, and their alarm returned anew. Rounding a corner in a deserted part of the Base one night, they had found Optimus pinning the shorter mech against the wall, both their expressions fierce in the light of only their optics and partially exposed sparks. Initially it looked like they were fighting, pressing and wrenching against each other amidst a litany of moans and suppressed shouts. But then they'd moved to the ground, and their true intent became abundantly clear. Again they'd slipped away without being noticed, and been left unsettled by the absolute normality of the two mechs' behaviour the following day.

*

_Ironhide pressed into the taller mech's grip, vents growling in frustration when Optimus's body refused to move. __The watery light of their barely exposed sparks throbbed between them. "I ain't taking nothing from you, Prime. Not when you've only been alive again for three slaggin' months."_

"_It's mine to give," Optimus replied smoothly, gently, optics darkening as he felt the broad mech begin to relax into him, the wide chassis warming. "And don't think me fragile, Ironhide. I've never felt better."_

_A thunk as Ironhide's head tipped back into the wall, resolve crumbling rapidly. "Don't reckon this is what Jetfire had in mind."_

"_No, but he was a Prime. He'd understand." There was an obvious smile in the murmured reply as Optimus dipped his mouth into the specialist's thick throat, sending blue sparks tingling out from the contact. Already he could feel that the mech needed this – neural lines throbbing a sour ache that spoke of a spark in desperate need of cleansing. Selfishly, Optimus also felt a need to do this for himself – to reconnect with the members of his team._

_There had been a cloying sense of disbelief amongst the Autobots since his resurrection, and though it was wholly understandable, he wanted to reassure them that it was still him. This private act was still the same, and something they were entitled to request. Or acc__ept if he could tell that they needed it._

"_You always left this too long, 'Hide," he admonished gently, releasing Ironhide's wrists to grip his waist, applying a teasing pleasure to thick __armour and strong lines. "But I'll forgive you on this occasion."_

"_Very reasonable of you." Unseen by the mech heating up his sternal servos, Ironhide grinned and fixed his hands under the sturdy armour of Optimus's sides. Wasting no time in getting them both down on the ground, he soon had the Prime on his back. "So," he purred, settling his weight over slim hips and feeling out the catches and locks on the broad chassis. "Came back good as new, hm?"_

"_Near enough," Optimus replied__ through a sigh, freely unlocking his armour to the mech's hands. Usually Ironhide was one for rough foreplay, a violent exertion of need building up to the cleansing spark merge. Sometimes he was urgent, though, seeking something. Needing the oft-intangible rewards of sparkmerge so badly that everything else fell to the wayside._

_Bringing his hands up to Ironhide's splitting chassis, Optimus grunted at the solid grip that forced them away. Ironhide had never allowed himself to be tended to, taking his pleasure from orchestrating another's. The dark mech could be mistaken for solely taking, but in truth he gave endlessly._

"_Just what I want, 'fore you go worrying," Ironhide cut in before Optimus could speak, guiding the last panels aside with blunt fingers to reveal the brilliantly bright spark. It __had been impressively powerful before, but through resurrection and temporarily adopting Jetfire's parts, the blue light had swelled and brightened to near-white._

_Momentarily forgetting himself, Ironhide's hands hovered at its borders with reverence. "Primus," he whispered, barely audible over the growl of their engines and the heady whine of their vents. Meeting Optimus's watchful gaze, optics bright and the battle mask long retracted, he searched for some way to articulate the myriad of thoughts flitting through his processor. Awe and relief were obvious, but guilt was a dark presence behind both._

_Ironhide's gaze dropped, feeling the need to confess swell again. "You shouldn't've been there on yer own, Optimus. You shouldn't have died from three Cons on ya in the woods."_

I should have been there, and I'm so sorry I wasn't_ hung in the air too heavy to say, though they were the words he so desperately wanted to lay at his Prime's feet._

_Optics brightening, Optimus didn't cheapen the words with dismissive assurance but reached up to draw the other mech down to him. "I'm alright, Ironhide. You didn't fail me."_

_Ironhide's groan was as much relief as desire, their meeting sparks pulsing hard as they blended together. He'd bypassed the use of their interface ports and cables for the sake of the pure experience of a spark merge. This was not about pleasure. It was affirmation; assurance; cleansing; an emotional and psychological release that he couldn't achieve alone. He'd never experienced it so strongly before – Prime's energy penetrating and consuming his own, surging out from his spark like a warm balm that soothed away of plethora of anxiety, frustration, remorse and regret._

_There was no language but some baser level of communication between their mingling sparks, beyond the roaring pleasure of such a fusion of energy. Things that language was too broad and clumsy to ever properly convey. This was what Ironhide had needed, what the Prime had seen in him since the moment they sat alongside one another on the aircraft carrier leaving Egypt. The ecstasy was almost incidental._

_Not that either mech ever minded that having their circuits blown was a side effect of this tending._

_Ironhide shifted a little as his systems came back online, finding the sudden warm ease in his spark unfamiliar and momentarily unsure of where he was. Soon he became aware of Optimus's hand against the base of his helm, not moving but being a protective presence in these vulnerable moments. The Prime very rarely offlined himself, even from a combination of spark and interface panel pleasure, and Ironhide was coming to see it as something that needed rectifying. A while ago, he'd been flirting with the idea of inviting a few other willing bots to mount an assault on his systems. It was perhaps a plan that warranted revisiting now that he was assured that Optimus's stamina was up for it._

_The taller mech was careful not to make any movement that might suggest that this was over. The merge in itself wasn't the point, and Optimus ran his hand down to an area of the dark mech's lower back that he knew to often be stiff and sore. With the lines and protoform softened in the come-down, Optimus set about massaging out the residual tension. He smiled, unseen, at the rumbling purr it elicited from Ironhide's vents._

_Optimus stilled briefly at an internal chirp from his sensors, which he now realised had been going off for some time but was too distracted to be aware of. Sam and Mikaela were closeby and retreating. Resuming the kneading strokes and cupping Ironhide's neck more firmly to himself, he cast the concern aside for the time being._

*

Later in the same week, Sam and Mikaela had heard what sounded like Acree over the rise that scooped about the Base, and it was obvious that this was more than just promiscuity. They'd talked again, theorised and guessed, taken into account that they were from an alien culture, and the only conclusion that they could draw was one they didn't accept. Couldn't believe. Finally this evening, when the human and bot inhabitants of the Base alike had wound down for the night, Sam and Mikaela had come into the Medbay hanger to find out the truth. They had come to him specifically with their concerned questions because he was, as a doctor, neutral. That and the only other bots they would have felt comfortable asking were involved in this situation that bewildered them.

They sat on the edge of a berth opposite the one Ratchet was leaning against. To Ratchet's straightforward question of what it was that was troubling them, Mikaela found herself left to answer whilst Sam inspected his shoes. "We've been seeing some strange... activities around the Base lately, and we were just wondering what's going on."

Cocking his head a little, the medic frowned. "What activities are you referring to as strange?"

Mikaela's brows lifted a little, glancing to Sam who seemed to be composing himself though not ready to speak quite yet. In truth she had the same level of rapport with Ratchet as Sam did with Optimus, so it seemed natural for her to be leading this conversation with him. "Well mostly it's Optimus… and more of the Autobots than I'd have figured him for. One at a time, I mean."

The medic's mouth quirked in a suppressed smirk, optics bright. "Ah yes, the merges."

The mechanic blinked at that, knowing full well from Ironhide that 'merge' was a slang term for their equivalency of sex. Sam swung his legs a little and straightened, his voice coming stronger than Mikaela had been anticipating though still in a rush. "Because Optimus is Prime, does that mean that the rest of you guys have to… like…" A forced cough and his ears flushed red. "Uh, 'service' him?

Ratchet shook his head with a smile, making an effort not to laugh at the innocent and entirely misled question. "No, Sam, there's not anything due to Prime from us other than our loyalty." He sat back a little, grazing the bottom of his jaw with the backs of his fingers thoughtfully as he thought of how best to go into this. It had been a very long time since he had to explain it to someone. On Cybertron it had been common knowledge past a certain age, though very few experienced the privilege of the act itself. "It's rather the other way around."

Mikaela frowned, meeting the bright optics that seemed to be projecting nothing but patience. "What does that mean?"

His hands flicked out in a kind of shrug. "Simply that, to use your phrasing, Prime 'services' us." The humans exchanged a loaded look and Ratchet sighed a little, folding his hands together so that his fingers interlaced as an X between his legs. When he spoke he'd fallen into a lecturing tone, though not unkindly. "It is the purpose of the Prime to care for the wellbeing of his people, particularly those bots closest to him. On the one-to-one level, that means attending to individuals' emotional and psychological needs as much as to lead them." A shrug and he smiled a little. "That's why he has what is widely perceived as a desirable frame. All the Primes did."

Mikaela's mouth quirked in a grin, and she tucked a stray strand of hair back behind her ear. "Yeah, even I'd say he was handsome." Ratchet nodded with a soft sound, waiting for her to continue as she seemed poised to do. She ran a hand through her hair again, casting Sam a nervous sidelong glance. They hadn't expected the medic to be so unapologetically forthcoming. Apparently this was natural to them. "So, what you're saying is that part of his job is to have sex with anyone who wants it?"

Ratchet raised a hand to cut off the misunderstanding before they both became invested in it. "Not quite – it isn't 'sex' as you would understand it." He drummed his fingers on his thigh as he quickly deliberated how best explain this. From what he'd researched, there was no synonymous act in their species, something a part of him pitied them for. It would have to be a very basic explanation. "Our sparks are physical manifestations of our souls, the energy that is our life force. Over time, it can become cluttered and worn from our experiences, which ultimately has a wider effect of degradation upon us. A sparkmerge can ease those wounds. The spark of a Prime is an immensely powerful one, with the energy necessary to cleanse another's spark in an act of comfort, reassurance or simply love."

"Love," Sam echoed back flatly, eyebrows twitching towards his hairline.

"Yes, love," Ratchet confirmed softly, his optics dimming with thought. "As our commander for all these years, Optimus has led us through hardships and horrors that he would spare us of if he could. But he can only protect us as best he can, and there his actions go beyond simply what is expected of a military commander. His kindness and generosity are from love, and it is what he gives freely to anyone who needs it. It is not an obligation, but a desire to care that is as much a part of him as his patience and intelligence. Merging to cleanse comes naturally to him, and it is something we need from time to time, particularly following trauma like what transpired in Egypt."

Mikaela shifted a little, her interest piqued and actively encouraged now that Ratchet was being so forthcoming with information. The stronger rapport also left her happier to pry where Sam had been rendered largely mute by the concept. "So, you all do this?"

Ratchet frowned a little, shaking his head as his gaze lowered fractionally. "We are all within our rights to seek it, request it, but not everyone actively does. Bonded couples do not need to, and some are simply unsure about imposing on him in such a way. He would say that it is never an imposition, but…" A half shrug, one thick shoulder rolling upwards.

Silence dragged out for several seconds as Ratchet waited patiently for any more questions they might have, and Sam and Mikaela began to wrestle this new piece of information against what they already knew about the Autobot leader. Finally, the medic simply slid off the berth and offered the platform of his hands to let them down. "I think that will do for one night. Come see me tomorrow if you have any more questions."

Once alone in the Medbay again, Ratchet rested his weight against a berth as his sensors tracked Optimus's approach through the wall. The tall mech had been hovering patiently, silently listening in on the comm. that had been opened to him. Truthfully it was why he'd ushered out the humans so abruptly.

'I think you explained that quite well,' the baritone rumble praised across the channel. Optimus wasn't used to feeling a need for secrecy about the merges, though he had always acted with discretion, and he'd been hoping that the humans might become accepting of the act that they seemed to have no parallel within their species for. 'Hopefully they were not overly perturbed. They are so different to us.'

'I think they'll handle it,' Ratchet replied, his tone turning soft as his optics darkened. When the doors opened he didn't look up. 'You remembered.'

'Of course.' Optimus was mindful to lock both their and the human's entrance before crossing the space to the medic. After being caught by Sam and Mikaela in his office with Bumblebee, he wouldn't be making that mistake again, and especially not now. He'd quietly informed Prowl that he wasn't to be disturbed tonight, and the tactician had inferred enough to simply nod and wish him luck. There was a chance he wouldn't need that time, but he sincerely hoped that the medic would allow it.

"Five years." Standing before the shorter mech, Optimus cocked his head with soft optics. His systems were quiet, patient. "You asked for time."

Ratchet shook his head, one hand coming up to graze across his features as he sighed into his palm. "Five years is just a blink in time," he murmured, shoulders sagging with something close enough to defeat that strong hands came to rest on his shoulders. He didn't resist them, optics shuttering before a sigh. With the Prime standing so close to him, he could hear the soft ticks and pops of the big engine and feel warmth rolling out from his vents. Comforting.

"Not for your spark," Optimus replied softly, thumbs tracing old scars and dents in the bright armour. The small plates of his face tightened, displaying more worry than he would if Ratchet did not have his head bowed. "You need to begin to heal. If not, the next time you're badly hurt your spark won't endure."

A soft 'harrumph' through his vents, yet Ratchet felt himself relaxing more deeply into the touch, shocks hissing out tension. Five years had passed since Mission City had changed everything and it still ached through his spark. It wasn't as bright as it had been upon seeing Jazz's body after it had been wrenched in two, but the grief had ground at him from the inside, feeling a little worse every day. Prime had left him to grieve for a year before approaching him with a gentle offer, and then accepted his request for more time without protest. It had seemed like yesterday, and it seemed like nothing had changed. Certainly not him. He shook his head again, stilling when one of the hands moved to cup his jaw and still the denial. The medic's optics were pale at the edges when he met the concerned gaze. "Perhaps it shouldn't," he uttered softly, sadly.

Optimus chanced another step forward to close the rest of the space between them, sighing warm air when the shorter mech didn't resist the proximity and relaxed further into his hands. It was a curiosity of the Prime line that their bodies always seemed somehow compatible with every other build their kind had to offer. Sometimes it took some creativity, but there was always a comfortable way to embrace – the universal reassurance.

"He wanted you to be happy," Optimus assured softly, his fingers seeking out taut lines and weary parts across the mech's back to sooth with knowing motions. Jazz's death had torn a strip from him too, and memories of their periodic sparkmerges long ago continued to leave a prickling sadness in his chassis. "I knew of his feelings long before you did, and it was always your happiness he wanted."

A hard, static sound jerked out of Ratchet's vocal processor, optics shuttering hard as he moved deeper into the broad chassis. Optimus held him close and opened the seam of his chassis a centimetre – just enough to allow a thin wash of energy to seep out and massage over the medic's front, not quite penetrating to his spark.

Ratchet brought his hands up to frame the Prime's sides, holding him there as he savoured the clean life energy being offered. He'd expected a change after Egypt, but nothing this potent and certainly not this familiar. The spark had changed, but it remained welcoming and comfortable, simply a more energised version of its former self. Perfect and pure.

Optimus's mouth at his short finial drew the medic out of his gentle scrutiny, reminding him that this wasn't a procedure. "You do not have to follow him into the Well of Sparks, and he would not want you to."

The medic pulled back at that truth, optics hardening a little as his defences tried to rise. It was futile in the face of this spark, though, still close enough to be felt by his own, throbbing with a need to touch. "How many bots have you counselled through the death of their sparkmate?" he asked, his hands tracing down thoughtfully to Optimus's wrists.

"Too many," the tall mech replied softly, allowing his wrists to be held, passive under Ratchet's hands. The medic was the least predictable, in part because he had only taken up this ongoing offer of a cleansing merge when it was severely needed. And then, there was something specific he needed from the encounter in addition to the sparkmerge itself. Optimus had often feared that Ratchet put himself through too much suffering simply because he didn't feel that his hurt warranted the Prime's attention. Closing the space between them again, Optimus cupped the sharp jaw and spoke against the medic's mouth. Ratchet had always enjoyed kissing. "But it doesn't make your pain any less significant. We need you. I need you."

Savouring the exploration of glossa and mouth after such a long gap, Ratchet finally allowed the feelings that had been building up around his spark and behind his interface panel to crash out through his systems. His stuttered moan was swallowed, met with a reciprocal sound flooded with gratitude. It still stunned him that Optimus was thankful to his partners for accepting him, rather than the other way around. Permitting himself to what was offered, what had always been offered, Ratchet turned them slightly and nudged the tall body against the berth. He broke the kiss with a thin smile and darkened optics.

It had happened once before like this, and the thought of revisiting that heady experience sent a fresh surge of heat through Optimus's systems as he got up onto the berth and led down. Shifting his limbs outwards, he waited as Ratchet unfurled the thick straps hidden on the underside of the berth and began to affix the loops around his ankles and wrists. Tonight the medic needed control, he noted to himself. Ratchet hadn't been able to save Jazz despite his best efforts, and guilt had been grinding at him as much as the grief that losing a lover entailed. He shouldn't have waited this long to confront him with the cleansing he needed.

As Ratchet fastened the last straps and began to give each one an experimental tug, his processor wandered in relation to the building anticipation in his spark. "Jazz used to play music while we 'faced," he said softly, coming to Optimus's side when he was satisfied with the bonds and tracing his fingers up the opening of the wide chassis. "Sing into my spark. It sent vibrations all through my lines."

"I know," Optimus replied with a shiver, already shifting against the restraints at Ratchet's simple, calculated touch. "There wasn't another like him." He liked to think that he would trust any of the bots to do this with him, but in truth the list was very short, and Ratchet was at the top of it. Optimus wasn't used to vulnerability, and it was a significant gesture on his part to allow himself to be made vulnerable for another's pleasure. Ratchet knew that and fully appreciated it.

Kneeling up on the berth, Ratchet straddled one thick thigh and tipped his body forward over the Prime's chassis. One hand came to rest with surprising gentleness over the readied interface panel, shut but expectant, whilst the other pressed against Optimus's chassis and began to coax the plates aside. When the light of the exposed spark flooded out in a warm glow, he felt his own chassis split open for the first time in over five years and met the azure gaze with bright optics. "Prime," he murmured, not quite sure why he had spoken and uncertain as to the meaning in it. Grief, gratitude, awe and a plea all wrapped into one syllable.

Optimus stilled under the cautious touch, twisting his limbs against the restraints to achieve it against the prickling rise of sensation. "Yes Ratchet?"

Ratchet smiled, and it came easier to his features than he'd remembered it could.

"Sing for me."

****

_I can't write just outright smut it seems… Still, I'd love to hear if it fluttered any shutters!_


	2. Prime&Sunstreaker  Discipline&Spark

Personnel Duty

_Star_fire201:

_Prime/Sunstreaker - Discipline_

_

* * *

_

It wasn't often that the only bot whose ego entered a room before he did was in Prime's office, and that somehow made it worse. With Skids and Mudflap, discipline was a routine part of every week – in quiet periods, almost every day. It wasn't a joking matter, but everyone knew how it went and where it would lead. Sunstreaker presently stood in front of the Autobot Commander's desk with clenched fists, defiant optics and a refusal to play along.

Usually Optimus stood for these meetings, utilising the height he'd been given as a Prime (though he was comparably short against his ancestors), but now he'd elected to sit to take pressure off of a fresh weld running almost the full circumference of his midriff. Megatron's latest tactic had been to try and cut him in half, it seemed.

Adjusting his position to little avail, Optimus suppressed the urge to touch between his optics and wondered quite where to begin. The timing of Sunstreaker's transgression was like the infrequency of his needing disciplining in that it irritated the Prime more than it ought to. There was also the senseless stupidity of it.

Just to be clear: "You tore off a piece of the infrastructure and hit Bumblebee with it. Minutes after he'd left the Medbay."

Dentals tightening to control the sneer that wanted to appear, Sunstreaker nodded grudgingly. When Optimus continued to wait expectantly, he huffed through his vents. "Yes, Sir."

Sitting back a little, Optimus rested his fists across the hardening weld and pressed against the itching ache. They'd returned from combat almost six hours ago, but his battle mask had returned to the fore almost instinctively for this meeting. "You hit our newly repaired scout hard enough, and in such a way, as to crush a component of his sensor array that will take Ratchet a week to fabricate."

Sunstreaker shifted his weight across his feet a little, knowing the tactic being used here and cursing its effectiveness. It was humiliating. "Yes Sir." A beat, then: "I'm sorry-"

Optimus raised a hand, wanting to sand this in a little deeper. Whilst not unintelligent, Sunstreaker could be a little dense when it came to the ramifications of his actions. Strangely, it helped to make him a more ruthless warrior in the field. His merits weren't shielding him here, however. "You blinded my scout."

The Lamborghini flicked his optics to the ceiling in what passed for an eye-roll. He did regret lashing out as he had, and was embarrassed to what he could only hope was Optimus's satisfaction, but the core frustration remained. "I wouldn't have been so fragged with him if he hadn't been such a glitch at the plant," he snapped, falling out of stance to fold his arms and dip his head.

At the petulant display Optimus did stand, coming around the desk to stand imposingly close to the brightly coloured mech. The one benefit within disciplining this particular soldier was that Sunstreaker was used to talking and justifying his actions to anyone who disagreed, meaning that everything would soon come out. With infinite patience, he narrowed his optics and waited.

The fight at the power plant some three hundred miles away had finished as abruptly as it had begun. Prowl had predicted the attack within a time frame of hours, and the Autobots had positioned themselves in wait of the Decepticons who could not afford to waste the opportunity to capture such a large quantity of unprocessed fuel. A pincer tactic had been devised, smaller bots mixed with larger to flush out attackers throughout the plant's labyrinthine structure, and it had worked until Starscream had broken through Ironhide and Sunstreaker and laid waste to an entire explosive sector. Bumblebee had caught the worst of it and had been in a near-critical state by the time they'd brought him back for repair. The scout had done nothing wrong expect for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, to Optimus's knowledge, so Sunstreaker's attack after he'd been brought back from the brink was inexplicable.

Within a minute Sunstreaker huffed again and looked to the side, his optical ridges lowered in a scowl. "… I fetched his leg," he murmured, offering it up as appeasement.

Unimpressed by the statement, Optimus arched a brow. "Because Ratchet told you to."

Sunstreaker moved with the sudden speed that made him invaluable in battle and had caught Bumblebee unaware outside of the Medbay, slamming his fist into the Prime's desk inches to the mech's right. "Stupid fragger wasted my time getting shot up like that," he hissed before he tore his hand back from the sizeable dent and folded his arms again, turning to put his shoulder to Optimus. Seconds later he inwardly he cringed. Now he'd really done it.

Ironhide would have shot him for that. Prowl would have had him incarcerated for a period. Sideswipe would have slapped him with the sharp side of a blade. All of these would have made sense as reactions, but Optimus knew the proud spark before him too well to overlook that there was some deeper motive behind Sunstreaker's behaviour now. This was not a mech who acted out without cause, and currently he was disturbed by something that he likely didn't know of himself.

"Being injured from a stealth attack by Starscream doesn't constitute idiocy. It was neither of your faults not to see him," Optimus countered softly. That he did not raise his voice furthered the Lamborghini's mounting unease that an explosion was coming. He stepped aside, away from the dent, and spoke without indicating the mark. "Fix that."

"I'll come back later and do it."

A thread of steel, carefully weighted, wove into his tone. "Now."

Sunstreaker looked up to the mech to assess if he was serious and clenched his dentals again at the decidedness he found. Whilst far from impossible, smoothing out dents by hand alone was frustratingly fiddly work. Accepting that he did deserve this particular punishment, however, he knelt to place a hand beneath the distorted metal and used his other to provide opposing pressure, warping the surface of the desk between his palms.

Optimus silently watched him manipulate the thick sheet of metal that formed the top of his desk, minute adjustments necessary to smooth the surface. Few could be better suited to the task than Sunstreaker, whose hands were both devastatingly strong and artfully skilled. His optics were also keen to precise detail, narrowed now as he warmed and pressed the metal a fraction at a time.

With Sunstreaker quiet, still and occupied, Optimus had the opportunity to scrutinise him properly. There were no scans as Ratchet would make or know them, but a heuristic exploration of energy that came jointly through the Matrix and his own spark. Only Primes knew the sheer depth of this empathy. If others knew they would likely shy away from merging. As it was the bots had half-heartedly protested that he saw too much into them.

Sunstreaker's energy fields were foul, jumbled with clutter and contentions that he seemed unable to resolve by himself. Optimus knelt and encased the nape of the mech's neck in one hand. Sunstreaker froze, stiffened, and began to withdraw his hands from the desk.

"Finish the repair."

A shunt of air, hesitance, and the Lamborghini resumed the delicate work. Their fields mingling now, Optimus diagnosed the first discord: Frustration. Not wholly at Bumblebee, though, or even at him for summoning him here. Unpicking the feeling, he found a myriad of emotions, tangled and inconsolable, almost all of which were directed at Sunstreaker himself.

The first locks inside his chassis came free soundless, and not consciously. That had been the furthest from Optimus's mind when he'd called Sunstreaker to him, but now it made a kind of sense. The proud mech's behaviour was symptomatic of a deeper difficulty; one that had to be resolved before it was given time to fester.

He'd just have to be careful with the weld.

Transforming his chassis opened channelled out the cleansing energy from his spark and the Matrix, conveying his intentions as well as putting Sunstreaker at instinctual ease. When the mech's hands stopped their work again, he rumbled a disapproving note for him to carry one before turning his attention to the parts in his back.

Maintaining his grip, Optimus used his free hand to explore and coax apart the myriad of weapons and armour that encased Sunstreaker's shoulders and upper backstrut. Whilst not as well armed as Ironhide, the bright mech had the advantages of speed and agility and it still took several minutes for him to expose the protoform beneath.

In that time, Sunstreaker's engine had descended into a heady thrum, lines twitching and spark aching with a potency that caught him off guard. The metal was almost restored but now his fingers were trembling with anticipation. Intelligently he knew that what Prime was doing was therapeutic, but Primus was it erotic too. Held still on his knees in front of the Commander's desk. In trouble and being disciplined.

Perhaps he should hit his fellow Autobots with girders more often.

Shutting his optics to immerse in process as well as spark, Optimus laid his hand across the mech's chassis and drew him back, adjusting his grip to hold him there. Their sparks did not have to be in direct face-to-face contact for the merges to be successful, though it was favoured. He heard as much as felt Sunstreaker's hands suddenly grip his hips when his spark energy began to permeate his protoform, reaching into his core.

Guilt, though only a watery form of it, bolstered by anger and the overriding swell of frustration that he'd felt from the surface. Optimus reached deeper, working his fingers minutely to bring pleasure and subsequently make Sunstreaker open his spark wholly to him. The mech moaned in static, fighting at first but surrendering when he was at the brink of being overpowered.

Guilt that Bumblebee had been so grievously hurt whilst under Sunstreaker's watch – that was predictable, though not the extent to which Optimus had expected. He drew the weaker spark in, engulfing it fully as his fingers tightening and sent shivering charges through neural lines and across raw, warm protoform. Anger. Anger that he cared so much. It had been the scout's fault, of course, yet, he still couldn't evade the stifling guilt. He'd not planned to hit Bumblebee, but upon seeing that the mech was repair and wall, the urge had been both sudden and overwhelming.

Optimus pulled the mech tighter into him, their chassis one boiling point of light that flickered and swelled through the gaps between their parts. Sunstreaker's head fell back to rest against his shoulder of its own accord, mouth open and glossa rippling with energy that travelled through him in waves. His engine gunned, vibrated, crashing for more upon this strange brink. This was nothing like merging with a partner. This was holy.

The Prime dipped his head to bring his mouth to Sunstreaker's jaw, thrumming the words into his mind and spark. "We all sometimes feel guilt for things that aren't our fault. It's not weakness to care too much for others." It came out a purr to the mech's audios and he could only jerk and blast a short burst of overheated air from his vents. Optimus held him tight enough to risk denting, holding him still and prisoner to this moment. The light of his spark found a new height, finalising the purge. "Let it go."

He may have screamed. He may have made no sound at all. Accessing his memory bank would have been pointless as the last forty seconds were nothing but giddily bad code. Sunstreaker sagged in the larger mech's grip, now turning into an embrace, and vaguely acknowledged that his own chassis had opened in response to the merge. With particular effort he moved the overlapping layers of armour back and unclenched his hands from Optimus's thighs. It had been a long time since he'd merged with the Prime, and he couldn't remember what he was supposed to say or do. If anything.

Optimus waited for the Lamborghini's systems to slump back into normal operative range before setting him upright on his knees and shifting back. He kept one hand hovering close to Sunstreaker's back for a moment as a precaution, the other pressing hard against his midsection as he forced himself to his feet with a groan. That had been overdue, it seemed, but needing a cleansing merge so badly wasn't going to get him off the hook.

Sunstreaker remained kneeling, optics closed as he tried to regulate his coolant systems whilst Optimus spoke. "When Bumblebee regains his vision, I believe it would be fitting that the first thing he sees is that he's been attentively waxed and polished by your expert hands. I think four layers of your premium brand will suffice with an apology." The big mech withdrew his hand from the weld and grimaced at the clots of energon that came away. "The same for the desk. I'll be back shortly."

The doors to the office had closed by the time Sunstreaker acknowledged the instructions with a slow nod and mumbled 'Yes, Prime'. Alone in the room, he sat back on his haunches and considered the desk with blearily wide optics. There was still some work to be done fixing the dent, and his hands were now twitching spasmodically with ripples of energy from his saturated and sated spark. He wanted nothing more than to crawl under it and slip into recharge, but Optimus was unlikely to be pleased with such an arrangement when he returned.

But then, getting the Prime angry had turned out so well for him last time. He could always make a bigger dent…

* * *

_Further proof that I cannot write straightforward smut. Review for trying? :3_


	3. Prime&Prowl Spark

Personnel Duty 

Ha Hee Prime:

_Prime/Prowl_

_(Going way, way back in this one)_

_

* * *

_

In the grander knowing scale of the universe their war was still in its infancy, but to the Autobots it felt that it had gone on far too long. Thousands were already dead and Cybertron was beginning to come apart at the seams, both unexpected when the first instances of violence flared up as little more than terrorist attacks. Decades later, their race had split into two clear factions and embraced their own ideologies and beliefs about what constituted the rules of war. The fighting was escalating away from Cybertron, and though this had been a secondary concern, as Megatron took over more and more bases through which to supply his troops around their homeworld, it rapidly became an urgent matter.

The Ark had initially been designed and fitted for battles in space, unable to land and with weapons that lost their effectiveness within the chemical concoctions of a planet's atmosphere. After deliberation, it was refitted for a long mission of purging the outlaying colonies of Decepticons so that Cybertron wouldn't end up completely surrounded as well as torn apart from the inside. Two high orbits of the planet were deemed to be enough for a shake-down flight and to teethe out any glitches, necessitating a skeleton crew and two small escorts.

It was a boring task. In command of a warship that could only fly over the battlegrounds in search of its own internal problems, Optimus was becoming increasingly frustrated and tense on the bridge. To have all these weapons at his disposal and to be under orders not to use them, whatever happened, was maddening. But things could literally explode if something went wrong. The modifications had been made in such a rush, and this shakedown was barely enough time to get out the worst of the inevitable bugs. Prowl seemed to mirror his feelings, pacing a short line some feet away and roaming his optics across ever console.

With so few systems running only the two of them were up here on the command deck. Wheeljack was with a group of technicians in the bowels of the Ark turning processes on and off without warning and measuring the readouts. The ship itself was being piloted by the two escorts, so there was literally nothing to do. And it was driving them both mad.

"Prowl, you're wearing a trench," Optimus announced with soft amusement, scrolling through the Ark's new stats in the background as he tempered his own frustration.

The tactician stopped at the far left of his track, his features cool beneath the visor though there was a shadow of a smile playing on his mouth. "At least then there'd be something to buff."

There hadn't been as much humour in those words as there should have been, even for Prowl, and it made Optimus regard the mech again. They were bots of similar patience and thus the perfect pair to be stationed on the bridge for the shakedown flight. Ratchet had also had a hand in their assignment, seeing this as an opportunity to rest that neither of the overworked and tightly-strung mechs could afford to waste.

Though perhaps, Optimus considered again as he took in the slim mech's posture and stiff movements, Ratchet had something else in mind. Prowl had been at the forefront of co-ordinating many of the coming attacks on their own colonies, assaults made from the Ark without any optical contact to keep casualties to a minimum. It wasn't a style of combat that Optimus liked the idea of, but he appreciated that it was a style they should perhaps learn to embrace when suited.

Optimus left his own console to approach Prowl, optics brightening and the Matrix warming with subtle, intimate scans. "Is it just boredom that's bothering you?" He could be comfortably frank with Prowl more than any other mech, and he held a fondness for him for it. That, and it was childishly satisfying to manage to make Prowl sag.

"It's the uselessness more than anything. After Flox…" Prowl trailed off shaking his helm, only looking up now that he realised that the larger mech was approaching him. He sensed well-meaning intent and waited.

"Flox is precisely why we need this shakedown. If a cause for the Ark's weaponry arises, I want to be certain that the engines won't cut out because we're using the laser cannons," Optimus replied dryly, coming to stand in front of him as if inspecting at parade, touching panels in probing exploration and granting time.

Prowl fidgeted when the edge of one doorwing was stroked, optical coverings fluttering briefly. "I don't see how Jazz could find that so funny," came the arch reply as he willed his systems to relax, permitting the touches to become bolder and heavier. Like many, he was tentative to ever impose on this quality of the Prime, though by all laws and traditions it was his right. Optimus had never seemed anything but reciprocally interested, however, and he sensed in the more personal merges that underlined the cleanse that the other sometimes needed the functionality of the act as it was between them. With some bots, he knew, cajoling and reassurance, even gestures of intimacy were required before they could open their sparks enough to be cleansed as they needed. There was no such struggle with Prowl, who knew exactly what these merges were and enjoyed them for just that.

Optimus had busied his hands guiding the parts of the Datsun's chassis apart, applying no pressure himself but adding something like a ceremony to the act of Prowl exposing his spark to him. He was a guardian in these exposed moments of vulnerability and treated them with the appropriate respect. To Prowl's remark delivered in such dry and even tones, however, he couldn't help but smile. "At the time, no, but in retrospect I can see why he'd think it was."

"You're aware of it too though, Sir?" Prowl found himself going on even as Optimus knelt before him, bright optics flickering to meet his gaze before fixing on the glowing recesses of his chassis. "The fact that we're armed to capacity and ordered to be only a spectator to any attack until we are deemed battle-worthy?" A sigh as he felt the Prime's chassis open and the first ebbs of that pure spark wash through, though he couldn't relax into it. His own processor, and its habit of making single points persist despite however pleasurable the circumstances were, really grated him sometimes.

"I feel the same, but this is not something that can be resisted," Optimus murmured to a neural line, sending vibrations tingling out across the tactician's neural network. He opened his chassis wider and allowed the most peripheral of their energies to mingle with anticipation, relishing the sweet harmony of this particular spark. If their souls made sound, he was certain that they would be almost the same note. "It will take as long as it will take, and there's nothing to benefit by rattling over it." As he spoke, he thumbed the last latches over the spark casing with one hand whilst continuing his caresses with the other.

There was a very long pause, the only sounds above the ambient noise of the Ark's systems the crackle of building charge and the humming of warm vents. Optimus located the primary connection hub between spark casing and energon lines, wasting no time in caressing the joins with devastatingly experienced hands. Prowl brought both hands to the Prime's helm, very nearly grabbing the sensitive finials in his fists but restraining himself to just remaining upright. This degree of build-up was very unusual for them.

"That's very distracting, Sir," he announced at last, low and flat and very, very restrained.

A smile tucked behind the face mask, still in place and adding a spice of formality to this exchange. "It's supposed to be."

Prowl shifted his weight on his slim feet, fingers spasming and coming to caress the base and length of finials by their own accord. "As much as I appreciate it, I don't need a cleansing at present."

Optimus smirked and let the expression carry into his tone, optics shuttering at the prickling heat brewing within Prowl's fragile hands and surging down his backstrut. "I never implied that this was all about you."

"Ah," Prowl replied in a cross between realisation and a moan, his helm tipping back as he shuttered his optics and resigned himself wholly to the moment. "So Ratchet and I shouldn't be worrying about the strain that some of the bots have been putting on you recently?" he asked lightly as large hands manoeuvred to hold his back and aft, supporting him on his feet.

"It's no strain, and these are difficult times." The Prime's voice was shadowed by regret, making him hesitate in bringing their bodies together. He focussed on Prowl's spark, now nakedly exposed and throbbing with anticipation. "I'm only grateful that I can do more than to ask them to risk their lives under my orders."

It occurred to Prowl as a cold barb amidst a warm bath of sensation that Optimus perhaps felt obliged to do this out of more than ability and purpose. He'd always been certain in the knowledge that his commander would not allow, let alone initiate these cleansing merges if he did not enjoy it or at least want it. But then, he conceded, a sense of being duty-bound could go evenly with genuine want. It felt like some reassurance needed to be put out, though. "All of us would be willing and honoured to die for a Prime." He said it more quietly than he'd intended and it enhanced the words, spoken from the very spark now mere inches from the other.

Optimus did not cheapen the fervent sentiment with protests or disease, merely retracted the facemask to allow his gratitude to show fully. "Let's not test that theory if we can manage," he rumbled as he'd decided that that was enough talking, bringing their chassis together with one decisive pull.

* * *

_Sorry for the short length and cut-off point, but I really struggled with this pairing. _

_Next time, Sideswipe with plug'n'play._


	4. Prime&Sideswipe plug'n'play

Personnel Duty

_Starfire201: _

_Prime/Sideswipe - plug'n'play._

* * *

"Prime, go. There's nothing I can do for him."

That had been Ratchet's clipped and serious instruction before continuing with the rest of the convoy back to the Base. The fight to neutralise the most recent Decepticon to land on this planet had been savage, underlined with the need to destroy it before it had a chance to get to Megatron and find strength in numbers. It was a miracle that no one had been killed as the mech had tried to hide in a textiles factory, quickly resorting to throwing massive pieces of machinery and vats of chemicals as weapons. Ironhide had made the killing blow in the end by forcing its head into a rapier machine, loosing two fingers in the process but ending the fight before NEST could take any more of a battering.

Confrontations with Decepticons did not ever end with the end of the actual fight, and it took an hour for Cybertronian parts to be collected and damage indicative of non-terrestrial weaponry concealed. However, when the small group of Autobots was finally ready to leave with the NEST personnel, Sideswipe was still as armour-flared and cannon-warmed as he had been whilst fighting.

Though uncommon, this manner of being stuck in a combat state was not unheard of, but for a hardened warrior such as Sideswipe the fallout was potentially devastating. He knew his strength and ferocity, and had made the rational decision that if he stayed amongst the Autbots in this state that someone was going to get slagged. Thus, he'd followed at a distance from the convoy before ultimately returning to the battle site to calm down. Ratchet had Optimus privately when the Lamborghini had made an abrupt U-turn and torn off into the night, not needing to tell Ironhide to take the lead of the convoy.

Optimus had pulled over to allow the others to pass and made a far more legal U-turn in the narrow road to follow, sending Lennox a short communiqué about needing to speak to and retrieve his soldier. He'd grimaced internally at the human's obvious irritation at Sideswipe's behaviour but hadn't tried to explain. Sam and Mikaela didn't seem to be entirely comfortable with the cleansing merges given the way they'd been acting with him, and he wasn't keen to instigate a similar situation with Lennox when he didn't need to be told anything.

Returning to the battle site, Optimus found that it had been cordoned off as he'd predicted by NEST personnel involved in clean-up operations. As Sideswipe doubtless had, the Peterbuild was waved through and left alone to transform and enter the trashed factory. The humans had not yet entered the site from the perimeter, awaiting instruction as to what to disguise the aftermath of the fight as. Knowing that this window of time when they would not be interrupted was short, Optimus scanned the multi-levelled factory and closed in on the farthest corner behind a particularly misshapen machine.

He found Sideswipe as he'd expected him to be: wound up, filled with directionless energy and indefinable emotion, and very lost with himself. The mech was sat hunched and staring at the floor, his fists hanging over his knees and trembling. Optimus suspected that much of the damage to this device hadn't occurred during the fight but had come from Sideswipe's fists.

Before the Prime could speak, the smaller mech met his optics and tipped his head back. "Didn't need to come back for me, Sir. I'm alright. Just a bit fragged off, is all."

"I can see," Optimus replied softly though with a thread of amusement, optics bright over the sharp prow of the battle mask. Between the two brothers, Sideswipe was the gentler spark and easier to approach in these matters, though just as straightforward as Sunstreaker. "Can I help?"

Despite himself, Sideswipe smiled. He didn't 'believe' in cleansing merges. He knew their therapeutic and medicinal use, even their outright necessity at times, but these mystic gifts bestowed by Primes were not something he craved or actively sought out. He did, however, believe in the positive effects of a long, hard overload of which cleansing was an after-effect. Smirking, he cocked a brow at the Prime. "Doctor's orders?"

A low sound rumbled softly from Optimus's chassis as Sideswipe stood and came to him. He knelt, equalising their heights, and splayed his hands a little in acceptance. "It can be."

Sideswipe grunted a laugh and stepped into the warm field of air and energy around the bigger mech, his fingers following his optics as he refamiliarized himself with the interlocking parts and armour plates. "Nah, I'd rather not. Don't want to picture Ratchet telling you that you have to come back here and frag me."

It had been more than a few years since he'd done this with the Prime, but he'd have approached just as tentatively if it had been yesterday. Optimus was not just a berth-mate, and likely couldn't ever be for anyone. This wasn't the first time that that depressing thought had occurred to him, but like every other time he had to skirt it away for now. As unlikely as it was that he could see it himself, Prime had made a choiceless sacrifice to do this for them, and the least they could do was make it mutually enjoyable.

Optimus frowned at the brightly coloured mech's remark, chasing the hand that was easing aside parts leading down to his interface panel and covering it with his own. They stilled and met one another's gazes. "Sideswipe, it's not-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Sideswipe replied quickly, optics dropping to the bold panels and guiding them apart with more urgency. He put on a smirk, optics half-shuttering in an expression he'd picked up from the humans' television as he played his fingers over the waiting ports he'd found. "Just let me enjoy myself, alright?"

An engine moan and Optimus offlined his optics, forcing his chassis to remain closed as much as instinct was driving at him to expose his spark and initiate the merge. Sideswipe had never been able to welcome the merges without a lot of pleasurable preamble, obfuscating the act within a traditional kind of casual interfacing. Optimus was leery to allow the cleansing to be made secondary in these meetings as it could create a false impression of intimacy and affection, but with some bots there was simply no other way to go about it. Sideswipe knew and understood as well as he did that this did not make them lovers, nor the merges with anyone else. It still seemed a dangerous complication to tempt, though.

"I'll never understand your opinion of this."

"Good frag with medicinal perks. What's not to understand?" Sideswipe grinned, grasping a fistful of neural lines to keep Optimus close whilst he drew out the first connective lines and placed them to his ports. Broad fingers on his back and arms indicated that this was not going to be a one-way affair, and he rapidly found himself needing his grip on the Prime as much as to keep upright as to keep them together. When he spoke again, his voice was underline with a husky thrum. "'sides, why do you care? Not exactly like this is the worst duty of a Prime."

"Not a duty," Optimus murmured softly, closing his hand around the back of the mech's neck and squeezing hard enough to almost hurt. Sideswipe almost fell into his lap, chest plates finally cracking apart as their interface lines wove together into a lattice of pulsing, mounting energy.

The first shunt of sensory data, stimulated neural lines sharing and bouncing how good this felt, caused Sideswipe to seize the mech's shoulder in turn and arch into him. "Right, it's an honour and a privilege to get at my ports."

Despite himself, Optimus chuckled into the mech's neck. "Now you're sounding like Sunstreaker."

"Slag, Prime, gonna lose my charge if you talk like that," came the groused reply, though it lacked conviction as Sideswipe tightened his legs around slim hips and eradicated any measurable distance between them.

"I don't favour those odds," Optimus rumbled in a timbre that his voice only fell to on the cusp of merges, cradling the mech's helm with one hand whilst the other caressed the side of his chassis.

The hot play of energy across their interface lines was as good as Sideswipe remembered it being, but as always the warm pressure of the powerful spark behind it surprised him. He forgot the comfort, safety and love that just this proximity brought, feeling as though he and Optimus had been mates and lovers for centuries, they were so in-tune. It was transient and false, he knew, and he welcomed the escalation as the Prime's chassis opened fully and overwhelmed his spark. A reminder that they were not equals here, but a powerful entity tending to a weaker one. "Primus, you're good at this."

Optimus bit his glossa at the groan in those words, his spark bared and pulsing with mounting desperation for a merge. This far along he was as dependent as his partner on the merge, perhaps more so. Sideswipe could overload and walk away without a merge, but he had to cleanse. "Let me." He felt a flicker of relief that it hadn't come out begging. This had to be Sideswipe's choice. He had to open his spark willingly to his.

The smaller mech rocked to pull their interface lines taught, teasing disconnection and an end to the incredible feelings before stabilizing the connections and letting the feelings flood back into him. His vocaliser growled a hybrid sound of his voice and engine, fingers tightening as the pleasure built and the urge to open his chassis grew, though he fought it. "Just want to keep this one fun, Prime. Don't need you to do anything more."

Optimus felt a cold stab through his spark at that, a momentary disruption that worked to refocus his processor even as his body moved in unison and the data packets flooding between them increased in speed and intensity. It was not his place to force a cleansing merge, only to be available and to offer. Sideswipe was well within his rights to get up and walk away now, regardless of how uncomfortable it would leave the Prime as he was left forced to reabsorbed the extra energy battering about his spark.

"You know that's not why I'm here," he began at last, drawing back a little to meet Sideswipe's optics and gauge him. "But, if you're declining-"

"No!" Sideswipe barked before he could stop it, jerking his hips roughly to instigate another billowing wave of sensation that encouraged his spark to flare in its casing. He'd always hated how naked his soul was to the Prime in these merges – every facet of himself exposed for inspection if Optimus wished. The Autobot Commander never pried more than he had to, though, and there was an unspoken rule that whatever came up in these merges stayed there.

"No, do your mystic cleansing thing," he went on, though he had to bring his hands to his chassis to guide the plates apart and expose his spark. One day this would be easy, he hoped, and whenever he needed this spiritual debugging he could have it without needing to talk his spark into it with interfacing first. This was nice though, he reflected, rolling his hips demonstrably. "Just keep doing this as well."

Head bowed and smiling, Optimus brought the peripheral eddies of Sideswipe's spark into his own as he withdrew his ports into their housings, stretching the mech's connective lines. "This?" he asked in response to the other's spasm, using the opportunity to delve deeper into the tangled web of pride, frustration and anger that were barbing the aching spark.

Sideswipe felt the Prime breaching his core, swelling with clean warmth that brought easy peace in its wake and made him pity the humans for not being able to know it. Not a spark merge: better than that. He couldn't remember why he resisted these when they felt so good, had him filled with the Prime's steadiness and assurance, his peace and wisdom forcing aside the niggling anxieties and tensions that had built into a storm in his soul. Giving endlessly and taking nothing but a temporary place in his open spark.

"Yeah, that's the one."

* * *

Pretty damn pleased with how this one turned out in the end. It took on a lot more depth than I expected, but in a good way, I hope.

All reviews are much appreciated and replied to.

Thanks for reading! ^_^


	5. Prime&Arcee spark&hurtcomfort

Personnel Duty

_ElitasLove: _

_Prime/Acree – spark, hurt/comfort with one unit post-RotF._

(Set immediately after RotF)

* * *

After returning to the collection of hangers that comprised their base after returning from Egypt, Ratchet had vanished into the Medbay with the most grievously wounded and not been seen since. The Medbay itself was partitioned into halves: critical and recovery, each operating off its own generator and soundproofed to one another.

Two of Arcee's units were still in critical with Ratchet some ten hours later, the third left sat on a berth on the other side of the wall waiting. The red-tinted femme had never experienced such separation from two thirds of her spark before, and thought repaired couldn't bring herself to move away from the Medbay and her sparksisters.

On the berth neighboring Arcee's, Optimus had just awoken from a deep recharge necessitated by the battle immediately following his resurrection. He presently felt fine in himself, the hole in his chassis closed by Jolt's charge using Jetfire's parts. Ratchet had left firm orders in his CPU to find when he onlined, though, so he'd stayed with the femme as the loan occupants of the 'ward'.

That she was frightened and miserable was obvious in her postures, but the Prime could feel hot lances of loneliness radiating from Arcee as well. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to be cut off from large parts of his spark; couldn't wholly understand a spark split into three either, for that matter.

The Arcee units had never needed spark cleaning on the level that he was by default able to offer, managing and harmonizing one another unconsciously, so he had no experience with and understanding with their spark at all. It troubled him, now. He had a clear understanding of the unique ways individual bot's sparks ached, but not for Arcee. Now he was at something of a loss as to what to say.

"How are you faring?" he ultimately asked, sliding down from the berth to stand against it.

Arcee shifted to regard him, both surprised and touched by his soft inquiry. "I'll be fine when my sisters are back online. Right now, it's just…" She trailed off helplessly and shrugged. "I wish you could understand it."

"As do I," he murmured with softening optics. After a moment he approached the berth and came to sit next to her, close but not touching.

She sagged a little and leaned into him with shuttered optics, too drawn and weary to care about protocol and ceremony. The Prime was a naturally soothing presence when needed – it was part of his function.

"What are they like?"

She'd asked it softly and abruptly, almost surprising herself. When Optimus frowned down at her, she twisted to meet his gaze across the planes of his armor. "The merges. What does it feel like?"

It was not an unusual question, and Optimus could see how it would be a curiosity to those who had not experienced one. "I do not have a basis for comparison," he began carefully, suspecting that she was speaking in comparison with a normal spark merge. "And it is different from my side, but I understand that it is therapeutic and calming. It eases emotional wounds and quiets worries. It is also pleasurable in many of the same ways an ordinary spark merge is." He hesitated a moment, considering his words. "The only significant different is that my spark, as a Prime, temporarily overwhelms."

Arcee nodded a little against his side, concluding that that was essentially what she'd suspected based on what little she'd heard. Cleansing merges were not oft-spoken about, though because they were sacred rather than taboo. Resting against his chassis now, she had a gentle sense of it: the vastly more powerful spark setting a steady harmonic for hers to pulse in time with. Somehow, even though her two counterparts were offline, she felt less alone and hollow. It was a comfort – one that she would benefit from pursuing.

A frown pulled at her mouth as she tried to work out how one approached the Prime for a cleansing. Not that she could at the moment, though: he was obviously confined to the Medbay for a reason. It would be grossly selfish of her to even suggest a cleansing now.

"You're hurting," Optimus spoke gently, breaking the silence. He could feel her spark becoming receptive of his, trying to absorb the little peripheral energy that radiated through the gaps in his plates. "What can I do to help you?"

She almost said it, almost asked, but stopped herself with the images of Prime's battle-torn body flashing through her CPU. His corpse landing on the asphalt at the Base. Forcing the thoughts away she shook her head, smiling a little in weak reassurance. "Just having someone close is helping. My spark feels, incomplete when they're not here." And I'm terrified that they'll die and I'll feel like this forever, she added to herself, unable to suppress a shiver.

Optimus sensed the grief she was forcing aside and put a gentle hard to her back. "If I can help, I want to. It pains me to see you like this."

Arcee shook her head more vigorously, arms wrapping about herself. "I can't, Sir. You're damaged and need to rest. I'm just… letting this get to me." She rubbed her arms with her hands, trying to evade the question that had been plaguing her since the battle had ended: what if her spark sisters died and she was alone?

Frowning a little, Optimus mimicked her gesture and brushed his hand along her back. "Ratchet was confident as to their recovery on the ship, and he has a habit of working miracles."

She nodded a little, though the words were little comfort, at least in comparison to the proximity of his spark.

"What was it like to die?" The question had blurted out before she could help it, and now she froze with wide optics at her tactlessness.

Optimus brushed a hand across his optics whilst the other moved to more fully embrace her. He couldn't lie and say that it had been peaceful – it had been agony until the end, and the first few seconds of being resuscitated hadn't been much better. But he'd died impaled, his spark shattered alongside a hundred other searing wounds. The damaged Arcees were unconscious and in surgery. If they did die, they would do so quietly beneath Ratchet's gentle hands.

"I have only vague impression of it," he admitted, his gaze fixed on some indistinct point on the floor. "But, I believe it was the truest peace that I have ever known. There was no weariness or pain, no sense of responsibility or duty. Time had no meaning. It simply was."

Arcee had leaned more heavily into him as he'd spoken, absorbing his warm words as her spark was so readily drawing upon the external eddies of his. It wasn't the same as feeling her other units online and well, but it was a soothing balm on a sore wound.

"Prime, I…" She was certain that there was some kind of protocol or ceremony to this, but she had no idea what it was. The cleansing didn't have to be now – the Prime could accept her request and agree a later time for it, and that would be enough. "Would you show me, Sir?"

Optimus hummed his assent, smiling a little at the cautious question that he'd felt coming for several minutes. He shifted back a little on the berth though remained upright, and placed his hands on the padding at his sides. His spark pulsed a welcoming throb behind his chest plates, swelling with which energy to merge. The locks on his chassis came apart noticeably but he didn't move the parts, allowing her to become used to the increased level of energy seeping from him.

Clearly Arcee did not wish to use lines and ports to facilitate a cleansing, and he had no interest in imposing it. Interfacing was the easiest way to open a bot's spark, but as she was approaching him with such a clear and conscious need, her spark was already open and receptive.

Arcee turned and came up on her knees with a shy smile, gesturing for him to lie back so that she could better access his chassis. The differences in their frame sizes were significant but not disadvantageous, her slim hands fitting into spaces the Prime had not known were accessible. Out of circumstance he'd come to merge with vastly more mechs than femmes, and he enjoyed discovering these little differences on these rare occasions.

Straddling his slim waist, Arcee considered the thick armor with bright optics and began to guide it apart with her hands, watching how the segments moved and interlocked in complex, fluid patterns. At each barrier came away, the enveloping calm and warmth grew stronger, soothing her spark and relaxing her frame. Her own chassis opened from instinct alone, as easy motion that made her sigh she his spark energy fell straight into hers.

Led back and subtly holding the edges of the berth, Optimus forced his body to remain pliant beneath her hands. The first time for a bot new to cleansing merges would set the tone for any future cleanses, thus it had to be as positive an experience as possible. Most were uncertain and hovered anxiously until he guided them with assurances. Some were hasty with ignorance, wanting to impose on him as little as possible and trying to take from his spark rather than allowing the energy to flood them as it should. Though nervous, Arcee did not seem fearful setting the pace, her optics fixed on his chassis as her exposed spark spun and blossomed with anticipation.

Finally she lowered herself, bringing her slight body against his broad frame and allowing the outermost ribbons of their sparks to clutch at one another like grasping hands. Arcee tried to keep her optics online to watch, to see his spark consume hers with assurances, comfort and peace, and for instant saw the light in his chassis flare brilliantly before her systems sagged. He burned through her, flowed as liquid heat into the cold spaces left aching from her sparksisters' absence, and she gasped at the fundamental pleasure of it. It was not sensual or sexual, simply fulfilling and drawing with it a wash of peace.

Optimus took advantage of her small frame by lifting her enough to allow his chest plates to close after she'd offline, triggering hers to do the same. Laying her back over his armor, he laid one hand over her back and with the other traced the back of her helm with his fingers. Arcee hummed softly and shifted against him, her hand finding a seam in his chassis and latching gently onto it. Though not weary himself, Optimus shuttered his optics to follow her into recharge anyway. They would wait together.


	6. Prime&Ratchet

Personnel Duty 

_Prime/Ratchet_

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Ratchet was intoxicated. That had been the intention when he'd walked the medic back to his own quarters after the last mech had left the Medbay, and now Optimus felt that they could finally get somewhere. He'd drawn out half a cube of High Grade over the last hour, feigning indulgence whilst refilling the medic's cube five times. He didn't want Ratchet to do this on his own, which he suspected was a habit following a frustrating death, and it was one of the few sure-fire ways of getting him to accept a cleansing merge. Which he needed, almost as desperately as he'd needed it after Jazz's death.

"It was a nothing part," Ratchet snarled with narrowed optics, his voice becoming less angered and more grieved with each repetition. He turned on Optimus, sitting against the desk, and continued pacing the restricted living space between them. "Younglings grow the mineral for science projects, for frag's sake." Realising the mistake, he paused with shuttered optics and high shoulders. "Grew. Grew it. Grew it because it was everywhere on Cybertron and was outright disposable in the Medbays."

Optimus listened with a bowed head, his vents cycling warm and slow. His chassis ached, and he knew in his spark that he, for one of a very few times, needed this as well. Needed the comfort, the distraction of another's soul and the sense of purpose – of being able to do –something- that cleansing merges could give him. It was a deeply selfish want, and one that he would do everything he could to hide from the medic, but it was another compelling reason to battle past Ratchet's armour.

It was the first time a spark-case heat-sink had failed, a negligible part until there wasn't another one to hand. It was rare for the parts to fail, only changed as part of maintenance a handful of times throughout a bot's life, and it was sheer misfortune and incalculable odds that had Cliffjumper's obliterated as part of a close volley of shots. There was nothing like the mineral on Earth, and no other part of a Cybertronian could do the same job. Synthesizing a comparable compound had been proving difficult for years and hovered low on Ratchet's lengthy to-do list, a failure that he now felt was inexcusable.

"There was no way you could have predicted this," the Prime interjected softly, setting the cube aside and resting his hands on the edges of the desk. "Even Ironhide's heat-sink has never been damaged, and he's seen more close combat than Cliffjumper ever did."

Ratchet's steps had slowed to a halt close to the wall, but he didn't turn. Optics dim and the cube hanging from his fingertips, it was only when he dropped it to clench his fist that Optimus saw that it was empty. He straightened before the medic twisted to face him, closing the small space between them to stand rigid and scowling.

"I spend more time than you imagining how these bots could die," he murmured tightly, the plates on his face held tight and close. Stale heat from his vents pooled and mixed with the Prime's, an even greater indicator of his anger than his stance. "This was one of the sure-fire ways one of us was –going- to die. Because I never bothered to find a substitute for the part. Because I was too busy smelting the dead from both sides to keep armour on our backs and energon in our lines so that we could keep fighting this fragging war."

His optics shuttered, mouth twisting as if pained by the thought of the words alone. They opened again like a flare going off, his voice tenebrous and sharp. "And so far from home. From any of our bases, where this mineral grows like a weed. We're on this miserable organic planet that seeks to rust and erode us at every turn, fighting because the 'Cons –might- be a risk to this infantile species, the All Spark gone and mechs dying because I can't complete the simplest of repairs."

Jazz's heat-sink had been bifurcated when Megatron tore him apart, Optimus realized with a grimace. It hadn't been what had offlined him, but it was one of the main injuries that had made saving his life absolutely impossible. Even with the mineral to hand the odds that he could have survived were infinitesimal, but Optimus sensed that Ratchet wasn't operating on that much rationale at the moment.

He didn't realize Ratchet had moved to strike him until his chassis shuddered with a loud sound, quickly repeated as the medic toppled into this new rut. Optimus wrapped both arms around the smaller mech and pulled him close.

Ratchet fought as if he was truly being threatened, though didn't bring any of his medical overrides to bear to take control of the bigger mech's motor functions and free himself. As much as he didn't want to be held, embraced like this, there was no denying the instinctual attraction of that powerful spark pressing so close to his, thrumming and ready.

He was far from done with being angry, though. "Who next, Prime? Who else is going to die because of the destruction of a stupid part? If we'd stayed anywhere near the colonies, Pit, near the Ark where it was shot down, I would have crates of them. They'd be in the way. Here I don't have one. Cliffjumper couldn't have one, and neither could Jazz, and neither can the next mech who gets mangled the wrong way."

And there Ratchet stopped, at the glaring but invisible line in the sand. The thing that could not be said, no matter how much anger, despair and intoxication bolstered it. The thing that, in dark and quiet hours, Optimus almost wished someone would voice to him: That is was his order keeping them here, and for the sole purpose of protecting the humans. They could take respite on any planet, but they remained here. At personal cost.

Meeting the mech's stare and holding it, Optimus ran a hand down one arm and clasped a solid wrist before squeezing hard enough to hurt. Ratchet flinched, hesitant and uncertain. So much strength in this body, Optimus marvelled anew. The medic was designed to be able to pry apart the toughest armour to conduct surgery, to tear parts off of himself to conduct field repairs, and wielded this thunderous strength with a dexterity that funnelled it, tighter and tighter, into taut delicacy. He rarely allowed it to come out raw, and at times like this it boiled within systems designed at every turn to contain and control it so as not to do harm.

The Prime could take it, though. It was part of his code now to want to if that's what would help. Optics narrowing with communicative intent, he squeezed the wrist again and pulled it into an awkward angle to underline the pain.

Ratchet hissed and tried to pull his arm free, his torn expression faltering when Optimus did not let go and the realisation of what he was trying to trickled in. "Don't provoke me, Prime," he warned softly, the words lower for it. Even as he spoke, though, a tremble passed through his frame. The grieved rage was still close.

A barely perceptible exhale from the larger mech's vents as Optimus tried to suppress the sigh, his overly swollen spark aching anew. "I'd rather you take this out on me than on yourself, old friend." He shuttered his optics, inwardly bracing himself. "Cliffjumper's death was not your fault, no more than Jazz's was."

A choked sound that was almost static, almost words blasted from Ratchet's vocal processor before his fist moved again, this time striking directly over the Autobot symbol on the Prime's armour. The symbol of their almost-extinct race's petty division. The banner for peace and freedom that Optimus led them under that, for centuries, had brought nothing but death and pain to them.

The High Grade leeched strength from the medic's body as well as co-ordination. Much as Ratchet wanted to continue to batter this accepting symbol of his frustration, after scant minutes he was clinging to the shallowly dented chassis with his optics shuttered and head bowed. Optimus did not initiate any movement, though, much as Ratchet may have wanted him to. If he turned passive now and merely let the Prime minister him, then nothing would be resolved. Ratchet needed this moment of control, of certainty, of being able to dictate what was going to happen with another's body. Not something that the medic could be aware of, but what Optimus knew heuristically through the vicious seeping of energy from the mech's spark, now reaching instinctively for his own.

There were no straps here – nothing to bind with as Ratchet may have wanted in the Medbay, and Optimus allowed himself to be coaxed backwards to the wall on the other side of the desk. Using his dorsal sensors, he lined up with and rested his weight against one of the solid support beams and allowed his wrists to be lift and set against the wall. Without drawing attention to it, he adjusted his footing to better equalise their heights, locking his legs when Ratchet's hands descended on his chassis.

Every part opened without resistance though Ratchet lingered over the components as if they were damaged, stroking and squeezing to test resistance, relishing the feel of -life- that was there. His movements were edged with desperation, a seeking need for something he couldn't identify but felt was somewhere in this body. The Prime's spark was a scorching point of heat now, the casing doing little to trap the light inside as it rippled over his opened chassis in bright waves. His own finally parted and allowed their joint energies to begin to mingle.

Ratchet's hands were rough and merciless, and it was a conscious effort not to bring his hands onto the medic's body or to move away. With the spark revealed openly, Optimus felt the miasma crash into him with almost nauseating potency. Cliffjumper was there, but Jazz as well. Always Jazz. Every time there was a death, Ratchet lurched back to his sparkmate's body. A self-inflicted haunting that spiralled his black feelings to greater heights. Optimus winced as Ratchet's hand clenched in spasm somewhere to the right of his spark, crushing a small part and piercing several lines. He ushered the damage report aside, wholly focussed on the emotional energy curdling out. His heat-sink was now visible, he realized. Small and often overlooked, but a beacon now, cradled at the very bottom of his spark casing.

The medic paused, optics bright and almost trembling, stuck on the sight of the insignificant, critical part. He gave a harsh exhale when Optimus's hand came to rest on the back of his neck, needing no further invitation to grasp the flared armour and crash their reaching sparks together.

There was no heady build-up, no caressing of energies and gentle sifting through thought and feeling. Ratchet had plunged, and Optimus received his soul with the same immediate urgency, almost entirely engulfing it within his own and pouring everything he could give into it. This was not an act of consolation or comfort but a place to scream, and Ratchet's spark writhed and thundered with everything that had been trapped and would have to be trapped again. Optimus shuddered with the force of it, overload striking them both almost out of nowhere.

The climax was from the sheer power and intensity of the merge, far removed from sexual arousal. It left them both gasping to supplement their already maximised ventilation systems, bright optics staring at nothing. Ratchet pulled away first, noticing the bled fluids on his hands and front as his chassis was closing. Optimus placed gentle hands on his helm and ran his thumbs down over his optics, cutting off the scan. "It's nothing."

Ratchet reached up to hold each wrist, hanging the weight of his arms down from them. He met the concerned optics with dimmed ones of his own, the irises drawn in tight from where he had aborted the scan. "I'm sorry," he murmured, shoulders sagging when he heard that there was less in the words than he had even hoped to convey. Prime understood, though. Always would.

Clicking softly to dismiss the apology, to assure that it wasn't necessary and that, in some way, the damage done was welcomed as the price of some kind of peace, Optimus drew the mech closer. Arranged like this, his finial came to rest against Ratchet's helm, and he shuttered his optics to sigh into the embrace.

Dimly, held close and safe on some deep and fundamental level, Ratchet knew that if their species could, he would be weeping. He couldn't decide why.

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_The result of reading some truly outstanding updates on stories, lately. Check out my fav. list. _^_^

_Thanks for reading this latest installment._

_(And Cliffjumper is dying all over the shop at the moment, so he was the easy choice when it came to picking the deceased. ^^;)  
_


End file.
